


After the Long Night

by Scarts



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2020-02-10 12:28:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18660454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scarts/pseuds/Scarts
Summary: Brienne and Jaime content post-Battle of Winterfell. Will Jaime return to Kings Landing now the dead have been defeated..? Soft, vulnerable. A conversation.





	1. They survived

**Author's Note:**

> I have a lot of feelings about Brienne and Jaime that I needed to get out. Sorry if it seems rushed or has errors, I tried my best. (Hopefully I'll update it soon???) I don't know if I'll write more, for now it's just one conversation but I KIND OF have an idea of how I want things to go between them. Jaime and Brienne are obviously meant for each other.

It was done, the battle for the living was over… and they’d won. Even now, the morning after, as she walked down the halls of Winterfell, Brienne still didn’t believe they’d managed to overcome the insurmountable odds. Of course, it wasn’t without great cost, Daenerys has lost the majority of her army she had bought with her, not to mention her close adviser. Others had been lost too, far too many to mention. She’d known it would be the case when she saw the armies of Winterfell preparing before the battle. Half of those who held swords were almost incapable of swinging them and the others completely lacked any training. It was a miracle anyone had survived.

As she turned the corner to head to the small room she’d been granted, heading to rest at the orders of Lady Sansa, that she saw Jaime. Many others in the castle were busy tending to the wounded and moving the bodies, but slowly everyone was finding a few moments of sweet sleep to replenish themselves after the long night. “Ser Jaime.” She said, greeting him as he fell into step beside her. “ _Ser_ Brienne,” he said, relishing in using her new title. The one he’d given her. “How are you feeling this morning? I can’t say anything for the weather, but I’m at least happy to be alive.” He looked over at her waiting for a reply. “Yes, I’m glad we won, but it wasn’t without a cost. We lost most of our forces last night. If we want to stand any chance of defeating Cersei we need to move quickly and build our resources again. I may be alive but if Daenerys doesn’t win her war, I don’t know for how much longer that’ll last.” Her tone was grim, reminding him that there was still a battle to come, but that didn’t stop him from teasing her. “Gods, Brienne, we just won against an army of the dead. We were moments away from losing, losing our lives, and all you can think about is the next battle? Can’t you take a minute and enjoy the fact you’re still living, as hard as that may be to do in a place as miserable as Winterfell?” Though only teasing, Jaime’s words struck a cord and Brienne bristled. “Of course I’m glad to be alive,” She said firmly, a muscle in her jaw flexing, “and I thank you for helping me stay that way. But this goes beyond just one fight.” She paused for a beat, “I suppose you’ll be heading back to King's Landing now.” He furrowed his brow, stopping their slow march down the hallway, putting a hand on her arm. “What on earth would make you say that?” Shrugging of his touch Brienne willed herself to remain calm in the face of his reply. “You’ve fulfilled your oath, you fought for the living and the living won. There isn’t anything left in Winterfell that you’d stay for. Everyone here is fighting for one purpose, you know what that purpose is. As much as I would advise that you stay and fight with us, I don’t expect you to bear arms against your sister.” Trying to hide her unhappiness at the thought of Jaime leaving to return to Cersei’s web, Brienne met his eyes as she spoke, hoping to provoke him to rising to her bait. Instead he remained quiet for a moment, his eyes drifting down the dimly lit corridor. “Jaime, -” she began, before being cut off.

“You know, before, when we travelled to King's Landing, when I lost my hand” she looked at the limb in question, remembering how he’d saved her life and almost lost his own, “All I could think about was that I had to get back to my family. To Cersei, to my father. There was a war going on and I wanted to get back and make sure they won it. I would have given anything to make sure that I got there.” He paused for a moment, and Brienne considered the lie beneath his words, he had after all, risked everything in order to save her life on more than one occasion. Not that he’d yet admitted to his shift in priorities. He continued, “Before things were different but now, I can see what Cersei has become. She’s family yes, and that means something to me. But it doesn’t mean the same to her. She’s always had her schemes and her plots, oftentimes just in place to try and kill my brother, and I was always somewhat willing to go along with them. But her lie of sending her armies to fight in the North…” He took a breath and looked back at Brienne, meeting her eyes with a newfound resolve, “When she lied, I realised that I didn’t have anyone else to look out for me if she decided I was against her best interests. And I realised that there was too much at stake, too many people I risked losing, if I didn’t leave.” There was a certain emphasis on the phrase ‘ _people I risked losing_ ’ as he spoke, but Brienne didn’t dare to hope he had risked his life once again to try and save her.

“If I return to Kings Landing now, I’ll be returning a traitor. The punishment for which I’m not exactly excited to face, don’t you think? So, forgive me, Lady Brienne, but if it’s all the same to you I think I’ll stay at Winterfell a while longer. Not that my chances are any better up here with your new dragon Queen.”.

A silence rang out between them as they once again started walking toward Brienne’s chamber. They reached her door and had still not yet spoken another word to each other, both lost for what to say and for fear of revealing more of their emotions than they were comfortable with. Placing her hand on the handle, Brienne turned to Jaime, “You’re an honourable man Jaime. I won’t forget the sacrifices you made to be here, the sacrifices you’ve made to save… me”. She was almost embarrassed at what she’d said, but looking at Jaime’s face she knew he’d understood. With a sheen in his eyes and gulping down words he didn’t dare say, Jaime tilted his head upward toward her, giving a slight nod. “Get some rest Brienne.” He said, his voice tender.

Feeling just as shaken by their encounter, Brienne closed the door behind herself, Jaime still standing in the hallway. She rested her weary head against the old wood of the frame and let out a shaky breath, unsure as to what her relationship with Jaime was developing into but knowing that she would see him later at the celebratory feast being held in the great hall. She pressed her lips together, pushing down a tidal wave of conflicting emotions, and slowly worked to ready herself for sleep.

On the other side of the door Jaime stood for a few moments, thinking of Brienne’s fleeting blue eyes and flushed face. Leaving Cersei, travelling North. He didn’t know what it had meant before, there had been so much more at stake that just one person. But now that the dead had been defeated and they’d had a brief moment alone, he was beginning to come to terms with an emotion he knew all too well, though he was hesitant to hope it was reciprocated in the same fashion. Turning, he left, heading to the courtyard to see if he could be of any help, before he too sought out a restless slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are really appreciated! Who doesn't love constructive criticism.


	2. His newly knighted lady

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne and Jaime are, as always, unable to tell each other how they really feel. It's almost painful to see how hesitant they are around each other even though they wanna smooch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm actually shocked so many people liked the first chapter of this fic?? It's been ages since I wrote anything so it's nice to know I haven't *entirely* lost my touch. Anyway, enjoy more Jaime/Brienne content with a bit of Pod thrown in there. We love a slow burn.

She stood there for a long while after hearing Jaime leave. Eyes closed, taking long breaths to try and steady herself after the night she’d survived. Slowly, she moved toward the meagre bed in the corner of the room, her armour rubbing against the injuries she’d sustained from the dead. Working as carefully as she could she took her sore, bloodied hands and started working at the straps that held her armour in place, relieving herself of its metal cage. After placing it on the small table across from her bed she took a moment to survey her body, to count the bruises and scrapes she’d suffered. Gods, she winced at touching the black bruise that spread across her ribcage.

She couldn’t help but think, how much worse things could be. How badly she could have been hurt. She couldn’t help thinking that… if it wasn’t for Jaime, she wouldn’t even be alive to feel the pain of these bruises. The sting of these cuts. And for that she would always be grateful. She didn’t think she’d ever forget what he’d done for her. When he’d knighted her.

Now, after the battle, she wasn’t sure she’d even been deserving of it. Yes, she’d wanted it for as long as she could remember, but it had been her duty to protect the Stark girls, both of which had almost died the night before whilst she’d been holding of the armies of the Night King.

No. She stopped herself before even finishing her train of thought. For too long had she doubted herself, doubted her own worth and skill. She was determined to do so no longer. The look Jaime had given her the night before, the looks he always gave her, were helping her believe in herself more than ever. Not that she’d ever admit to his influence over her. Not even to herself.

As she washed over the filth that covered her face and hands she couldn’t help thinking back to the battle. She’d fought before, yes, but nothing so…

This had been different.

She knew she’d suffer for a while to come with the memories of this night. Finally getting into the small bed she was grateful to call her own Brienne let out a sigh. She could get a few hours rest, then she was expected to be up, helping. They’d arranged a victory feast for this evening, to celebrate those who’d won and remember those who’d been lost. It wasn’t something she would usually indulge, but Pod would want to be there, and Jaime would probably desire a goblet or wine or two. So she might just go, if only to enjoy the life she’d been granted until their next battle. It was this that she filled her thoughts with as she slowly drifted off to a fitful sleep, filled with the dead.

 

* * *

 

 

The evening came around far too quickly she thought, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Wisps of her dream stayed with her,

 

_In the name of the warrior, I charge you to be brave._

She’d been dreaming of him again. Dreaming of that night and the death that followed. It had been almost poetic, so much so that she’d expected to die. After all it was what she’d wanted for as long as she could remember, and those who are happy do not expect to live long and prosperous lives in Westeros, at least not since the beheading of Eddard Stark.

Righting her clothes and taming her hair into something of her usual slicked back style Brienne readied herself to head out into the courtyard, to look for Lady Sansa and to help anywhere she may be needed.

Even through the hallways of Winterfell Brienne could feel the bitter chill of the winter that had begun. It was nothing compared to that which had come with the wights the eve before, but it was enough to make her pull her cloak more tightly around herself as she continued through the dark and narrow passageways. Pod was the one who saw her first, greeting her with his usual, “Milady.” Before correcting himself to say, “Milady Ser.” With a beaming smile, that didn’t work well to hide his exhaustion. Usually so joyful, her squire now had a haunted look about him, something he couldn’t hide below his normal demeanour.

“Podrick,” she replied, “How are the repairs going? How many wounded are there?” He took a moment before replied, quickly surveying those who hurried around them in the courtyard. “Most men were killed, those who weren’t killed are injured. I don’t think anyone got away without some sort of injury, Milady Ser”.  Already annoyed with the manner in which he was using her titles Brienne quickly spoke, “Podrick please, just – just call me my lady.” She paused for a beat before speaking again, “And what about you?” She asked, “Have you managed to rest?” She knew the answer before a word came from his mouth, “No… Milady. I – I tried but I couldn’t sleep. I though it would be better if I came and helped the wounded instead.” She looked at him as he spoke and saw that which he wasn’t saying. She saw how badly the battle had affected him, how badly the dead had left their mark on something, something deep inside him that he thought no one could see. She was the same. She didn’t think there was anyone standing in Winterfell now who hadn’t been changed by what they’d been through. “I know that was your first battle, I know it was difficult for you, for us all.” She took a breath, “I’m proud of you, you’ve come far since we first started training. Take your leave, go and find yourself something to drink. I wouldn’t have thought it would be much longer before the feast.” Knowing he was going to object before she’d given him a chance to, Brienne turned her head to look directly at him, “Go.” She repeated. And he did, heading down the passageways she’d come from to find solace in a cup of ale and a warm hearth somewhere in the castle. With Podrick gone she was left alone in the courtyard, merely standing to observe those who were working around her. Without another thought she took to the great hall, thinking she’d find Lady Sansa there. She didn’t find Sansa there, instead she found a quiet Jaime, standing in front of the fire, focusing intently on _something_.

For a brief moment she considered leaving him to his thoughts, not sure she could conjure enough energy to navigate whatever conversation that would have, but the small movement of her foot against the stone floor caused him to turn at the noise, meeting her eyes.  “My lady,” He began, before stopping to correcting himself, “Forgive me – _Ser_ Brienne. I did not hear you enter.” His eyes took to a slow examination over her form, nothing invasive, simply checking for any sign of ill health. “Are you feeling any better?” He asked, voice laden with warmth. She worked to fight the blush that had sprung up in her cheeks at his welcome. “Thank you, Ser Jaime. Yes, I’m feeling measurably better now. Though another night of sleep and a good meal won’t go amiss.” She let a small smile spread across her face at the thought of all else that _wouldn’t go amiss_. For instance -. She cut herself off, severing the thought before she let it take root and instead drawing herself back to the conversation at hand. “Brienne?” She heard him query as she drew her mind back from idle thoughts. “Forgive me,” She said, “I did not hear what you asked of me.” She didn’t miss the small quirk of his lips, before he said, “I said, I’m glad you’re feeling better. I take you’re here for the feast. Not that it isn’t at all premature, what with the looming doom we all face from the South.”

 _Ah,_ she thought, _that’s what he was doing looking so intently into the fire. He was thinking of Cersei._ Though she tried to stop that thought from hurting her she couldn’t help the small twang of pain that sprung up against her heart. Jealousy, was that it? Before she could think any more on the matter, or in fact before she could even muster a reply to his snide remark, they were interrupted by Northerners pouring into the hall in anticipation of the feast that had been laid out around them on the tables as they’d spoken. Funny, she hadn’t even noticed anyone else in the room. In the midst of the thrall of men and women who entered the hall Brienne managed to get away. Suddenly, the thought of being around all those who were celebrating and mourning did not appeal to her. She wanted to be alone, she needed air.

Jaime turned, looking away from those who’d entered, away from the Starks and the Targaryen girl who had taken their places at the head of the room. He expected to still see Brienne a few paces from himself, and as such be able to continue their conversation. But she’d gone. He couldn’t help the disappointment spread through him. He’d intended to provoke her into a verbal spar with him. He needed something, _something_ to help him feel alive again. After all he’d been through since leaving Cersei, the only joy he ever found in his days were the moments he spent with his newly knighted lady. He waited until everyone was busy with their feasting and drinking before quietly excusing himself from the whole affair. He wouldn’t be missed and had more important things to do than toast a Queen who would likely put his head on a spike within the coming weeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Also PSA: I haven't had enough time to proof read these chapters so if there are errors I really apologise, just let me know and I can re-upload)


End file.
